


Dragonchance

by vanillafluffy



Category: Dragonriders of Pern
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Menolly has Impressed Blyth, Benden's youngest queen, and knows her place is in the Weyr. Even her good friend, Mirrim doesn't always understand how difficult that can be. Sometimes, she wonders how differently her life might have turned out if she'd been Searched by the Harper Hall instead---but at least she isn't at Half-Circle Sea Hold!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragonchance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rebecca Hb](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rebecca+Hb).



 

 

 

"Right here. This is where it all began." Menolly gestures out to sea, indicating the rocks just offshore which look like the headknobs and wingtips of a dragon diving into the waves. "Those are called the Dragon Stones. When the tides are lower, there are rocks between there and there that look like neck ridges."

 

"So where's that cave you're always talking about?" Mirrim asks, shifting her position on green Path's neck. She looks up at Menolly, who is mounted on her queen dragon, Blyth, as their combined fair of fire lizards swirls overhead. "Is it far?"

 

"Its opening is in the cliff face below us. If the tide wasn't so high, we could glide down to the beach and get in that way. When T'gellan brought me here to collect eggs, I could reach the hole from Monarth's back." Menolly smiles reminiscently, thinking of those days, now Turns past, when she'd liberated herself from the repressive Hold she'd grown up in and Impressed her fire lizards. That had barely begun to prepare her for the amazing experience of Impressing Blythe.

 

Mirrim's nose wrinkles. "Too cold and wet," she pronounces. "Path wouldn't mind, but I would."

 

Menolly unbuckles her riding straps and frees the carrysack with her provisions. "We can picnic right here and have a wonderful view. I've missed the sea."

 

_You have me. _Blyth tells her, sounding hurt. _I am not cold or wet, isn't that better?_

 

_Of course you are, darling, _Menolly reassures the young queen. _You're more wonderful than anything I could have ever imagined back then_.  


As Blyth crouches, she slides down the golden shoulder, landing on all fours as she does about half the time. It still seems like a long way down, but she's gotten used to it. Mirrim accomplishes the feat with a good deal more grace, but then, she'd ridden a-dragonback often before Impressing and hasn't nearly as far to descend.

 

Collecting stones to weight the corners of the blanket Mirrim has brought, Menolly remembers how often she'd wanted to come back here during her first sevendays at Benden Weyr. Mirrim had dragged her out of the Lower Caverns and foiled her attempts to hide by the hearth. She'd been so shy, painfully afraid she didn't fit in anywhere, especially the weyr.  Since her fire lizards were apt to be raucous when she was frightened or alarmed, this had led to some trying moments, because Lessa, Benden's Weyrwoman detested fire lizards, and she'd been terrified of Lessa.

 

Although it's supposedly the cold season, today is mild enough. The sun is shining, there's a temperate breeze blowing from the sea...Menolly pulls off her leather flying cap and drops it on the blanket. She shakes her head, allowing the wind free rein with her short, dark curls.

 

"You're smiling," Mirrim remarks as she unpacks one of their sacks. "You're pretty when you smile, you should do it more. But you've made great progress from how timid you used to be."

 

Menolly feels her smile widen. "I was just thinking about those days," she tells her friend. "You've got to realize, Half-Circle Sea Hold has barely a quarter of the weyr's population and I'd never been a day's journey away from it in my life when I was brought to Benden. And now that we can fly our dragons, I can go anywhere!"

 

She feels a warm rush of love for her sweet Blyth. She'd been so certain she wouldn't Impress---after all, she had the fire lizards, and they were enough of a responsibility! She'd stood on the Hatching Ground when they told her to, so convinced of her impending rejection that she'd been thinking more of a tune she was scribbling than what was going on around her---until the loveliest voice she'd ever heard said, _That’s very pretty! _Menolly looked up into Blyth's whirling blue eyes, and her life changed again, this time forever.

"Not _anywhere_. We can't go to Southern. And it isn't like I can't visualize it perfectly." Mirrim's lower lip juts out in a rebellious pout. "It would be so lovely to be stretched out on a warm sandy beady right now!"

 

During the same Hatching when Blyth had broken shell, Mirrim had Impressed Path, much to everyone's surprise. Women rarely Impressed dragons other than queens. Menolly privately thinks that her friend and the scrappy little green are ideally suited for one another; Mirrim is as bold as anyone she's ever met. She and Mirrim had been friends before that fateful day, but afterward, having another girl to share the experience of raising a dragonette sealed their bond as nothing else could.

 

"We'd better feed the fire lizards," Menolly says practically, "or they'll pester us so much we'll never get to our own food."

 

They have ample meat scraps to satisfy the fire lizards' appetites. It's relaxing to lounge on the blanket with their fairs creeling for tidbits and sassing each other. Nearby, Blyth and Path are basking in the sunshine, necks intertwined. Neither dragon has quite reached her full growth, but their training has progressed enough to allow them to leave the weyr when they aren't needed for other duties.

 

"Manora gave us some of those dried fruit pastries you like," Menolly says with a yawn. Most of her fair has glided away, full and content, but Lazybones and Uncle are still begging for more. Mirrim is having a similar problem with Reppa, who wants her to hold the chunks of meat so that he can take dainty bites of it.

 

"That's enough, you silly thing!" she scolds. Mirrim piles a few bites on the turf beside the blanket and lets the little creature serve himself. Of course, Menolly's Brownie takes an interest in the unguarded meat, and for a moment, the two hiss and threaten each other with claws.

 

"Quite enough," Menolly says severely, deftly snagging her obstreperous fire lizard.

 

_Behave_!  Blyth admonishes, and the brown wilts at the force of her disproval. The others make themselves scarce, and the two weyrwomen can finally partake of their shared meal.

 

There's nothing out of the ordinary on their menu: Smoked wherry in the meatrolls, a packet of spicy herdbeast slices, some sliced roasted tubers...Menolly enjoys it, but it suddenly seems odd to be sitting beside the sea and not be eating fish. Wherry meat had been considered a delicacy when she was growing up, and herdbeast was even rarer. Now that's been reversed. The weyr kitchen serves seafood perhaps once every other sevenday---but, she thinks, now that they're permitted to fly solo, perhaps she can satisfy her taste for fish more often.

 

"I want to see that hold of yours, too," Mirrim says. She sips from a padded flask of klah. "I really want to see that." Her tone has enough of an edge to it that Menolly rolls her eyes. She could do without that---she's happy to have Blyth's bulk between her and the hold, even though it's far enough down the coast that it can't be seen from here anyway.

"We can do a fly-over," she says bravely, "but there's really not going to be anything to see. Especially on a day like this. The fleet will be out fishing, you can count on it. Depending on how the weather's been or if the fleet's made any big catches, the ones who are there might all be cleaning fish." Or making soap or doing laundry or any of the other dull jobs Menolly has no desire to get drafted for---she somehow doubts that even riding a dragon would keep her mother from trying to put her to work.

 

_I would fly you away,_ Blyth says sleepily. _No one can tell us what to do...except T'gellan. And Ramoth. _The weyrling master or the senior queen---any of the senior queens, really, but Ramoth is the ultimate authority.

 

Menolly smiles. _You're right, Blyth. I'm weyr now, not holder. They can't make me do anything I don't want to. I just don't want to test them._

 

"Cleaning fish?" Mirrim hasn't noticed the exchange. "That sounds just about as much fun as carving up herdbeast to feed these bottomless pits." She glances toward Path, her expression softening. "Shards, I'm so glad they can hunt on their own now!" After a moment of silent communion with her dragon, she reaches for the lunch sack. "Pastry? Oooh, I haven't had this kind in ages, at least someone's been trading with Southern!"

 

The pastries are made with dried fruits native to the Southern Continent. Mirrim, who grew up there, is more enthusiastic about them than Menolly. Giving most of her share to her friend, Menolly retrieves her pipes from her saddlebag and begins tuning. The clear notes ring out, harmonizing with the murmur of wind and waves and the shrilling cry of the fire lizards.

 

Menolly is still growing into her place in the weyr; taking refuge in the kitchens isn't an option for a queen's rider---and she's introverted enough that making idle conversation in the Main Cavern after dinner is difficult for her. Taking a cue from Blyth's appreciation of her music, she's begun to play her pipes in the evening, which keeps her a part of the crowd, but gives her a perfectly good reason not to join in discussions.

 

Sometimes, she misses music. Menolly remembers the old days at Half-Circle with Petiron, who'd taught her and supported her love for music---she'd been happy playing and singing, the only joy in a hard life. Her parents had thought "real" work was more important than the "twiddles" she played, and after her teacher's death, she'd been beaten for displaying her creativity.

 

Blyth is asleep; she must be, or she'd be distressed by her rider's memories. Menolly isn't the only instrumentalist in the weyr, and occasionally others will join her in improvisation, but for them, it's a diversion, not a longing. She wouldn't trade what she has with Blyth for anything, but for the last few months, she's wondered how differently things might have turned out if she hadn't been presented at the Hatching a Turn after her arrival at Benden.

 

After being drilled on references to take the young dragons Between, Menolly and Blyth and the rest of her clutchmates had been paired with more experienced riders and given transport duties for the most recent Hatching. She and T'gellan had gone to Fort, where he'd swooped off to collect Lord Groghe at the Hold and she had glided into the courtyard of the Harper Hall.

Masterharper Robinton was her passenger. He'd been tall and finely dressed, distinguished with age---and he had a rich speaking voice that could captivate anyone, she was sure---and she could feel herself blushing for her fancies.

 

His praise of Blyth was sincere, and she'd quickly lost the worst of her self-consciousness. As they awaited T'gellan's return with Fort's Lord Holder, Robinton asked where she was from originally. When he found out it was Half-Circle Sea Hold, he'd asked about Petiron, and her studies with him, then mentioned that he'd been sent some of her work, and thought she was quite gifted.

 

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she'd wanted to study here, but her place was in the weyr now.

 

She simply said, "Thank you" and wondered briefly if she could commission a harp or gitar for herself. Her pipes were pleasant enough, she thought, but she'd probably gotten quite rusty on stringed instruments and she didn't want to lose the knack entirely.

 

"That's nice," Mirrim says. She's wrapped up the remaining pastries and looks like she's thinking of snuggling up against Path for a nap. "Is it a real song, or are you making it up as you go along?"

 

Menolly is stung. "Why can't it be both?" she retorts.

 

"If you make it up as you go along, you can't do it again," comes Mirrim's sensible answer as she brushes crumbs from her tunic. "Can you?"

 

"Maybe not exactly the same," Menolly defends her music, "but I could write something based on it." To prove it, she concentrates on the trill she's woven into the melody, a little glissando that rises and swoops like a fire lizard at play. After improvising around it for a couple minutes, she looks over at her friend. "Just wait, I'll write it up so that anyone could play it. On any instrument."

 

"In your copious spare time? Don't worry about it, I believe you."

 

She could. True, her days as a queen rider are full---but she could find someplace no one would think to look for her for a few evenings and scribe the tune. Maybe she'd make a copy for the Masterharper, and ask him if _he_ thought it was a real song....

 

"Do you hear that?" Mirrim is sitting up straight, listening. "Someone's coming."

 

Voices are coming their way---climbing the trail that wends its way between the marshes and the beach. Menolly knows it well. The accents are familiar, too, and there's only one hold near enough for these boys to have come from, and that's Half-Circle.

 

"It's too late in the Turn for eggs, Rako, and if we go down on the beach, we'll scare them off. We can see 'em fine from up here."

"But we're supposed to be gathering beach-plums, and you know old Mavi'll give us what for if we don't come back with full baskets."

"We've got plenty of time, it's just midday."

 

Ahh, so they're a couple of hold boys who want to watch their fire lizards at play. And they're worried about her mother taking them to task for laziness. Some things never change.

 

They're watching the steep trail as they climb, so they don't notice the dragons until they're at the top. There's a tall one and a shorter one, brothers by the look of them, and they're goggling at the dragons with their eyes wide and their mouths wider. Blyth half-opens her eyes to look at them, and Path stirs and blinks. The sight of the two dragon's faces side-by-side regarding the mesmerized holder lads is so comical that Menolly snickers.

 

"Something we can help you with?" Mirrim asks sharply, less tolerant of the intrusion.

 

The little one looks frightened by her sharp tone, but the older one is stares at Menolly with surprised recognition. "I know you!" he says. "You taught us at the Sea Hold before Harper Elgion came. Menolly, that's who you are! The Holder's daughter---they all thought you were lost in Threadfall."

 

"Hello, Pelli. Did Elgion give you more lessons on the drums?" He'd been one of her best students, and she's chuffed to be remembered for her teaching. His brother must have been too young for lessons, she doesn't recall him at all.

 

The boy nods eagerly. "He wants me to go to the Harper Hall and be trained as a message drummer," he tells her proudly. "I'll be old enough to apprentice there next Turn."

 

"Wonderful," she replies, glad to know that her long-ago intuition about his talent had been correct.

 

Pelli's forgotten about the fire lizards; he's staring at the dragons again, his brother hiding behind him clinging to his tunic. "They're not going to eat you!" Mirrim snaps. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

 

That's easy for her to say, she's weyrbred. Menolly remembers well enough how the huge dragons had intimidated her when she first went to Benden. She scrambles up from the blanket and strides to her queen. _Blyth, shift this way, would you please? I want these boys to meet you. _The queen stretches her neck, forcing Path to lift hers, and tilts it to face her rider.

 

"This is Blyth." She reaches out to scratch the spot on Blyth's golden jaw that makes the queen rumble with happiness. "She won't mind if you touch her. Here, like this---" She guides the younger boy next to the dragon and shows him how to rub the queen's soft hide. "What's your name?"

 

"He's Rako," Pelli says. He places a tentative hand on Blyth's neck. "He was still in the nursery when you left. And now you're a queen's rider?" There's awe in his tone, that someone he knows has achieved such prestige.

 

"Indeed she is," says Mirrim, who's not one to be left out of a conversation. "No more gutting stinking fish for her. You just tell those hold-bound tunnel-snakes that didn't half appreciate her---"

 

"Thank you, Mirrim," Menolly says loudly, and Blyth reinforces it with an admonition to Path. "Yes, Pelli, I'm Blyth's rider and life at Benden Weyr---" She might as well drop that tidbit, since she knows details of this meeting will be all over the Sea Hold by nightfall. "---is a lot different from life at Half-Circle  There's a lot of work involved, I assure you, but there's time for other things too, like music."

 

Her pipes are still hanging from their thong around her neck. Menolly lifts them and with a silent mental command as she begins to play, orders her fire lizards to attend her. In a moment, Beauty is perched on her shoulder and the rest are finding comfortable spots on Blyth's neck ridges. Mirrim's fair, no more inclined to be left out than their mistress, alight onto Path.

 

Introducing the lads to the fire lizards is fun. Pelli looks like he's stumbled over a sackful of Marks, and Rako's shyness is forgotten when Old Uncle balances on the handle of his basket to be stroked. She emphasizes that they, too, require a great deal of care, and that that's why not just anyone should take eggs from nests. The weyrs are responsible for protecting the fire lizards, and their hold's Harper will report any abuses.

 

"We's gonna be in trouble," Rako says, looking up at his brother. "We's s'posed to be picking fruit."

 

Beach plums aren't a cultivated fruit, so they don't get tithed to the weyr---at least, none have found their way to Benden since she's been there. Menolly's mouth waters at the thought of their tart goodness.

 

"I wouldn't want you to get into trouble," she says, "so I'll help you fill your baskets. And when you've got all you can carry, I'll help you get it home."

 

"You mean fly on a dragon?" Pelli breathes.

 

"I don't mean on a fire lizard," she says with a smile. They’re good kids, she doesn’t necessarily have to drop them directly in front of the hold---or stay to visit.

 

"Between?" He's not so sure about that.

 

"Sure," says Mirrim, who'd love to scare the daylights out of a couple wide-eyed holder lads. The cold darkness of Between would do it.

 

"No," Menolly says firmly. "Just a straight flight from here to there, so you can see what everything looks like from up high."

 

Mirrim grumbles, but after Menolly has gotten the brothers onto Blyth and glided down to the nearest stand of beach-plums, she's along soon after with the blanket and leftovers strapped to Path's withers.

 

Being out of doors with the scent of brine in her nostrils takes Menolly back to the best non-musical part of her childhood. While many of the hold children had complained about having to gather roots or fruit or spiderclaws, she'd always enjoyed being away from adult supervision. Much as she is today, being out of the weyr!

 

"O wide sea, O sweet sea---" she begins to sing, and the boys join in. They teach Mirrim the words, and for a while they're occupied with picking beach-plums and seeing whose basket will hold more. When the baskets are full, Menolly tosses handfuls into her carry sack, and they help. She may come back again while the fruit is in season, she thinks, swiping away a line of red juice from her chin. She doesn't often get to play in the kitchen these days, but beach-plum tarts would be a tasty treat for the weyr.

 

The countryside near Half-Circle hasn't changed as much as Menolly has in the past few Turns. Some of the dunes have shifted from storm forces, there's a burned area that might be from a lightning strike or from charring Thread infestation. The bluffs and the rocks are eternal.  


Wings spread wide, the queen and the green soar over the little bay where the hold is situated. Blyth banks at her rider's request, circling the area to give the boys and Mirrim a good look at the sea hold.

 

Half-Circle Sea Hold hasn't changed, except that it seems smaller than Menolly remembered. The Hold flag ripples in the breeze, the banners above the entrance to the Hold itself.  Flying a bit lower, she can see that the Docking Cavern is empty---the fleet is out on such a fine day, of course, it is. The wood on one of the docks looks new, but it's exactly where the old one was and a row of seated figures look up from---what else?---cleaning fish. There are no ships on the little crescent of sand where repairs are done, and no one nearby, so that's where she has Blyth land.

 

"It was good to meet you, Rako," she says as she helps them down. "Pelli, good luck at the Harper Hall. I know you'll be a fine drummer."

 

Their arrival hasn't gone unnoticed, but no one is going to shirk his or her work to intrude---that's why she's selected this spot rather than landing in front of the Hold proper. Menolly knows how well that obedience to Yanus Sea Holder is ingrained. If she flew over there and ordered the fish-gutters to stop and let her select some of the catch, they would---honoring dragonriders is also a duty---but they'd have to answer to him why they stopped and they'd all have to confirm that it was a real rider on a real dragon. They wouldn't thank her as the boys had for a reprieve from an unpleasant task.

 

Menolly waits until the boys have gotten a little way off, so that Blyth's take-off won't spray them with sand, and then she's airborne again. With Mirrim and Path a few wingspans away, she swoops past the pier, waving to the workers. Whew! She doesn't miss the smell of fish at all, although she wouldn't mind a dinner of yellow-cheek.  As she's thinking that, a brown fire lizard lands on the pier near one startled man and gobbles up a clump of fallen fish guts. She's not sure whose brown it is, but the last thing they need is for the fair to get into the catch and spoil it.

 

She asks the fire lizards to join them, and has Blyth add her command. Fortunately, they'll take orders from dragons, especially queens. The party gains altitude, and Menolly takes a last look at her former home.

 

"Back to Benden?" Mirrim calls over to her.

 

"Yes!" She carefully gives Blyth the coordinates for their jump Between, and shivers as freezing silence and darkness surrounds them.

 

Then light and sound return with a rush as they materialize over the weyr bowl. It's colder here than by the sea, but it's far warmer than Between. There is bustle and dragons and somehow, it's more familiar than the sea hold. Mirrim is hurrying to land---Path is flapping vigorously toward their weyr. Perhaps she needs the necessary.

 

Menolly overflies the scene, letting Blyth glide in unhurried zigzags. Her gaze seeks out the Hatching Ground, and she smiles. "That," she says to her queen. "That's where it all began."

 

**THE END.**

**Author's Note:**

> From a great prompt by the recipient, who wondered what might have happened if Masterharper Robinton hadn't found Menolly at Benden, and she'd stayed there and Impressed a queen. I *HAD* to write this!


End file.
